Words Nobody Knows
by SweetestLady-2030
Summary: A shared childhood, a lost friendship, a love, found again and unrequited. "It wouldn't change anything if I told You what I feel. But I'm going to, anyway. It's becoming too hard a job to keep it all inside."


A/N:** Thanks to Shee (**Savannah-Vee**) for betaing, Brit (**brittany0388**) for pre-reading, and Jaime (**jarkin33**) for the fantabulous banner. You can find its link on my profile.**

**So this is what I've been up to while not procrastinating. I have another one-shot, which has potential of being blown into MC fic, or at the very least updated with a Part Two or something. It's called **"The Chances We Take"** and it's a bit dark, so be on the lookout.**

**As for WNK, Brit said this Bella reminds her of **Black Swan**'s Nina. If you haven't seen the movie **_(shame on you!)_**, basically the girl's idea of reality and her fantasies start to blur together until she goes insane and accidentally kills herself. But no death here, be at peace **:)

**Playlist: **"Gunslinger"** by **Avenged Sevenfold**; **"Hear Me"** by **Kelly Clarkson**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Title:<strong> Words Nobody Knows

**Penname:** SweetestLady-2030

**Summary:** A shared childhood, a lost friendship, a love, found again and unrequited. "It wouldn't change anything if I told You what I feel. But I'm going to, anyway. It's becoming too hard a job to keep it all inside."  
>A letterone-shot written for the Fandom Fights Tsunami cause. AH/OOC/M for language and mild citrus.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Edward,<em>

When we first met, we were kids. Silly, naïve kindergarteners. But I still remember how I looked at You back then: through awe-struck eyes, my mouth hanging slightly open, my small heart pounding and quivering like a strangled hummingbird, already way back then.

You grew and I lost You. You were older than me; bigger both in mind and might. I didn't think of You all these years, but I never forgot You. How could I? You were extraordinary, You _still_ are. And with each day I want to be Yours more and more.

I must apologize. When I found You again, I paid no mind to the prospect of seeing You every day. You had changed. You weren't _my_ Edward anymore. Not that You've ever been, unfortunately, but that's all I've ever seen You as – mine.

So there You were. After what, eleven years? I'm sure our actual „reunion" happened way before that, but it was when I really, truly and in all honesty first noticed You again. And upon that one look, You had me. I was immediately thrown back in time, back to when we used to play on the swings outside the bower, and it was just like those days, with the staring and the frantically beating heart. Only now I know how to keep my lips from parting and releasing the tornado of my true feelings. I know how to hide now.

Edward, I've been hurt. I will never be the same little blond girl You used to know. I've had people lie to me, let me down and make me lock myself up and away in a tower of jokes and loud laughter, a dungeon of silence and seeming peace.

Actually, I'm sure You think I'm nuts. Who wouldn't? I've turned into a stalker, a dreamy weirdo, crazier than I've ever been. Is this love?

I follow You everywhere. I try to talk to You. I'm angry at You because You can't feel what I feel. I can see it in Your bright, icy eyes that You _don't_ remember me, or anything we once shared. You don't _understand_ me. Or anything of what I try to tell You.

It's irrational, this diversity of the things I feel. Not that it would change a thing if I told You... But I'm going to, anyway. It's becoming too hard a job to keep it all to myself.

Okay, now, imagine us meeting in the hallway. It's probably the second story, 'cause that's where the hall is, and in the hall – Your favorite grand piano, right? When You think no one's looking, You stroke Your long fingers along its length, caress the keys and the shiny carcass. You get so lost in Your own little world that You never notice my flushed skin and slightly trembling knees. Your interaction with the massive yet so graceful black piano is _such_ a fucking turn-on for me – and I'm always watching, Edward.

So whenever we meet, the initial reaction of my body is a wide grin I can only try to hide. If I manage to force the corners of my mouth down, it takes mere seconds for the smile to crawl its way back to where it was.

Then there's the tingling-prickling sensation on my skin and in my fingertips. It feels a little like when your limbs fall asleep, only this is much more intense, lighter and you can't shake it off. It's a wonderful feeling, and I wouldn't change it for anything. Well, maybe Your kiss. I'm not sure.

Besides that, I always feel that inexplicable pull towards You. And if I _really_ think about it, I feel like I just might remember how it had felt that rainy afternoon when we hid in the toy stand, listening to the excited screams of our friends as they were running around in the heavy drizzle.

I liked puddle-jumping, but not when it was still raining. You loved to feel the water on Your skin, Your clothes, in Your eyes and nose, but You stayed with me. You chose to give up Your fun to keep me company, and so we sat there, wiping the raindrops from our brows and lips time after time.

We just sat. We didn't speak – not with our mouths, anyway – but we let our bodies do the talking. Shifting closer. Tangling our cold fingers together. Hiding the joined hands behind us so no one would see. I felt you tickle my side. I turned; You were there. Squinting Your eyes, You blinked as if I was out of focus. My heart was playing along with the raindrop drums on the tin roof above us, and I thought I'd just heard Yours responding. And then the pull. My _goodness_, the pull. Like there was a piece of magnet hidden in our chest; as if I had no will of my own anymore.

And it never vanished, never lessened its power, and it got us leaning closer and closer to each other: a thought away, a shiver away, a breath away... home.

You were my first kiss. Yeah, okay, I'll admit that it was just a small peck, so light and chaste, and barely _there_, but it happened. And it never disappeared; I swear, that precious moment stayed with me, with_in_ me.

I'm probably blowing too much out of practically nothing here, but I hope there's enough affection left in You to at least _try_ and understand, at least a part.

I was five, and You should've thought that girls are poisonous aliens. Still, there You were, stuck to my side like I to Yours, letting go of a rainy fun and risking catching the cooties or what-the fuck-ever. At that time I didn't understand what was happening, but I've loved You ever since.

Oh, and the butterflies. I've always wondered why is this indescribable sensation compared to a pile of insects. Even now, when I look at You, grinning and blushing, with a tingling skin, shaking hands and that feeling in my gut, I still can't see one fucking butterfly there. I feel more like having my insides tickled, or being filled up with helium. The latter fits the best, actually. I am so light, it seems I could just lift off and fly away if You don't keep me, if You don't hold me down tightly enough. And my throat is so closed from the excitement and pleasure and _need_, that I could just start squealing at any moment.

And You know what, there hasn't yet been a time when I'd catch sight of You and not feel this all, or not wish to every damned shooting star and magic being there is that You could see and understand what is going on inside me at that very moment when You turn Your head and look at me, but Your eyes look right _through_ me, like I was made of glass. At times like that I wonder whether or not would it hurt more if You met my eyes for a second and then looked away. I haven't figured out an answer to that question yet.

What I _do_ know is that this insecurity is hardly fucking bearable. These new-found feelings for You have made me question myself, Edward, question every single thing I do or say, and they also make me wish I was different all the time. I want to be good enough for You, something You could really want and be proud of having once You get it, 'cause get You will – I'm Yours already.

But, when I look at myself in the mirror and compare myself to all the girls around You, I feel like sinking, back against the wall, and down, down, down, to the black hell.

Depression. Self-criticism. I feel invisible as a ghost, and fragile as a porcelain figurine, like the faintest breath of Yours could make me disappear, like just one word from those delicious lips of Yours could shatter me.

But it's funny, 'cause I'm neither of those. The irrational hope to be with You someday won't let me die. I want to live too much, _really_ live. And honestly, I look far from a china statue. Those things are fair, graceful, beautiful, adorable, desirable.. and I'm not. It would be just too perfect to rest in Your arms as a fragile, beautiful doll, so small and breakable that You would always need to watch Your every move. But I'm not a doll, and You wouldn't care if You broke me.

But those girls, they are everything, _everything_ You could ever possibly need. They're thin and pretty, and they know how to use make-up and act around people, and they know how to walk in high-heels, and how to dance and speak clearly, and they know how to dress and look flawless wherever they'd go, and their hair isn't always a mess, and they're just so much better than me.

I understand why You never look back at me. Who would? Surely it would mean there's something wrong with You, if You paid even the smallest amount of attention to _me_. With girls like _them_ present, it would be far from rational or sensible, not to mention it would ruin Your reputation.

I don't think You're actually aware of the count of the females who have the hots for You, no matter if it's because of Your pretty face or piano skills, or simply Your personality. Even that little she-cat of Yours, the bass guitarist of Your band, she too likes You. And she feels like she owns You; I can see that bright as a day.

I've tried to befriend her. Yeah, I'll admit, the main impulse was the hope to get closer to You, but I also thought she was a really cool person. Maybe she is, but not when I'm present.

Now, I know I'm not the best thing to be around – sometimes I really feel like I repulse people – but would it really be too hard to try and _not_ judge me? She's always glaring at me. Could You please tell her to stop that? To stop trying to set me on fire? It hurts.

I'm aware that I have few friends. I'm not familiar with the thing called "best friends forever". I'm not saying I'm desperate for it, though it would be nice, but... I'm not making sense anymore. Sorry.

I tried. So very fucking hard. There's a saying that in order to get something you've never had, you have to do something you've never done before. I did. I still am. But I've lost my faith. I am unable to believe in anything.

I went to that party. Somehow, somewhere I found the guts to shave my legs, dress up in a set of lacy underwear and better jeans and heels and a girly top, and I even put some make-up on. _Anything for You._ I wasn't comfortable, my nerves were all over the place and beyond, but somehow I managed to step out of my house. I tried to find comfort in the silly dream of being with You, if only for a night.

I can't remember getting to Your house. But I do recall the hot-and-cold waves over my body, the prickling of tears in my eyes and tingling of my skin. I was scared, so fucking scared of being humiliated; I was inches from turning and running away. But the thought of being close to You made me stay. More than that – it made me go up to Your front door and try the handle.

There was music playing, pretty loudly, so I figured it'd be okay if I just let myself in. But little did I know, it was my ticket away from You forever.

Turns out, it wasn't a party, but a small get-together for Your band. Of course, Your she-cat was there as well, standing right beside You, burning my face with her hazel eyes as You all stood to see who had had the nerve to intrude on Your night. Your brother, Your drummer, Your saxophonist, Your singer. Your sister. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Stuttering, tears, fear, embarrassment. _How will I ever look You in the eyes again?_ Love lost. Hollow pain, closed throat. No voice. Clicking of heeled shoes. Chains. A dog barking. _I'm so sorry, I thought.. I didn't know..._ Pity, disgust. My chest, empty. _You'll never be mine._ Black darkness.

I can't tell you how I got home. That's vanished from my memory, and maybe it's for the best. I don't really want to remember Your scrunched face as You showed me the exit, or her death stare.

I'm grateful, or maybe not really, that my next episode is about school. Of course, You're there. You can't stay out of my consciousness, ever. But I can't fool myself into believing that it could mean something more.

We're sitting there, on the floor across from the door of room eight. I'm at Your right side, she's at Your other. And, even though I'm all too aware of the hotness of Your blood running wild through Your veins seeping right through my clothes and into me, and although Your beautiful tenor rings straight into my left ear, it's like I'm not even there. You're acting like I'm a ghost again.

You're touching with Your shoulders, comparing Your notes and chuckling at each other's doodles. You look like a couple to everyone else; a happily perfect, perfectly happy couple. I know You're not _together_-together, but this knowledge doesn't help and relieves nothing, 'cause the awareness of _her_ being _so much_ better for You than _I_ am is suffocating and overwhelming like a motherfucking dustcloud.

Your sunny, contented laughter sounds dark in my head. I can't help the blinding idea that You are in fact mocking me. You're touching her hands, "accidentally" grazing her thigh or sneaking a whiff of her chestnut hair, and it hurts me. It's like the sharpest knife is stuck in me, twisting and turning and slicing me up inside. The pain is searing and numbing, but at the same time, it won't let me give up and let go.

I would cry, but I have no tears left.

I would scream, but You've taken my voice.

I would thrash around and pound my fists, but I'm exhausted.

So I just keep sitting there, cause that's all I can do. I won't even dare to look at You, but somehow I still see everything in perfect clarity. _The sweetest hell._ I just wanna jump up and in Your lap, wrap my arms around Your neck and kiss You with all I have.

I want You. I want those hands on me. I want to touch Your strong shoulders and feel Your skin under mine. I need You. I need to run my fingers through Your hair and grasp at the locks on the nape of Your neck. I need to caress that sharp chin of Yours and hear You say that You want me too.

Holding on tight, clinging for dear life and _fuck all the rest_. Tasting Your breath in my ear. A moan, a grunt, a thrust, a roll of delicious hips. _Oh, yeeaah._ Lapping at Your soul, strangling Your crotch, _humping like dogs has never been this beautiful._

Who gives a shit about getting caught, I just wanna show her who's Your woman, and I wanna do it in the most painful of ways. Scream at her to get the fuck out of our lives and shove her through the door like she did with me. And then straddle You, stroke every inch of You and seal our bubble with the hardest of kisses.

This daydream makes me believe and forget. Again I can see a shooting star in the blood-blue sky inside me. You're my drug, only mine, and I'm smiling as I imagine kicking her perfect player ass all the way to Pandora. Cue evil laughter.

Life is hard. It hurts. If You knew half the shit I need to deal with on a daily basis, You would understand why I am what I am, why I can't be different, saved, and why I need someone to love me so much. Maybe. You need to be very open-minded to at least get some hints about my twisted and flawed inner being.

Want me to help You?

Remember the show night? The make-up lady spilled the powder on You and, while You managed to clean off Your jacket, it stayed on Your skin. I know, 'cause the sight is burned in my mind.

You were playing. With mind and body and soul, You were completely into the music You were creating. Sitting up straighter with louder notes and dropping lower along the quieter, more sensual ones. When the spotlight beam got focused on You, the powder caught the light and made You shimmer like thousands of millions of diamonds. Like You were made of them. You are beautiful and it took my breath away. I was left with nothing but the thought of Your unearthy fairness.

I know, I sound totally crazy, but I'm just repeating it all for You. _Always_ for You. So You would understand.

I left the stage. The last one. She was there, glaring again. I caught Your eye. Smiled at You. You just stared. Through me? I don't know; You're the mind reader, not me.

But I loved the way it felt when You looked at me. The way Your eyes traveled up and down my body, quickly but surely. The way Your sea-green stare seemed to burn Your initials in me; through my clothes and straight into my skin. Like a horse marked by its owner, You looked at me and let me know You own me. _Mine._

_Yours, alright._ I'm Yours. Since the very first time, I've belonged to You. There's never been anyone else for me, so I don't fight – I accept it, welcome and crave Your power over me. I just wish You would see that, feel it and take all I have.

Can You recall that afternoon last week? When we stayed behind to clean up after the tea party and You showed up, telling us to not eat all the snacks? Ring a bell? You don't know how I wish I hadn't frozen up and forgotten how to speak. You can't imagine how I hate myself for not replying with something witty, something that would have made You look at me and really _see _me, and maybe even smile that lovely crooked smile that makes Your eyes turn to narrow slits.

I like Your smile. You look very happy when You do that, even if it's just a small smirk. Makes me feel all sunny and warm, and I just wanna leap at You and feel Your long, strong arms embrace me.

I wonder if You could feel me. Standing so close to me, beside me. Could You smell me? Could You hear the giggles and helium in my heart?

Letting go isn't easy. I wanted to grab Your fingers and never disappear. Hang from Your lips. Would You allow me? I know You'll never be with me, but that does nothing to change the fact that watching You leave.. it hurts. I hurt. I just want You so, so much.

Someone once said that loving someone without being loved back is like having Your favorite brand of candy or liquor being bought up. I know now that it's a terrible analogy. There's other stores and other brands. But, if you are in love, there are no 'other brands' for you.

So whether You understood me or not, just know I'm here and ready, waiting for You.

But I don't wanna be in love, not really. Love is what makes people vulnerable and open for hurt. Haven't I felt enough hurt in my life? Have I not had enough of disappointment and crushed dreams, goodbyes and non-existent tears? That's not what I would like to have, but as much as I've heard, happiness and pain are inseparable and come wrapped in one package. So apparently, to have someone to reveal my deepest fears and weirdest dreams to, someone who'd be willing to drop everything to just hold me or someone to give me flowers and a kiss _just because_, I must brace myself for the ugly part.

Oh, but who am I kidding! It's already too late, way past the point of return. I'm in too deep, and I both do and don't like it.

I want my life back. I miss the old times, those quiet evenings with cookies, candles and _Gunslinger_... The times when You didn't occupy my every conscious thoght. But I know I'll never get it back the way it was, so there's really no point in hating You about it. What would make it easier – maybe – would be You taking what I want to give You. But You won't, right? No one ever does.

But then again, You star in most of my dreams. You tease me, smiling Your signature smile, telepathically making me tease myself, imagine You're next to me, on me and that it's Your fingers I feel combing through my dark curls _below_ and massaging my most tender flesh, that just happens to be soaked by the downpour of lust.

It's been suppressed for too long, this carnal desire. Tucked away in the pit of my stomach, hidden under layers of laughing camouflage and invisible to everyone except You. But when You come to me in my dreams, I can't hold it back any longer.

I picture You hovering over me, pressing me down with Your sweet, all-man weight. Tall and lean, You cover me like a safety blanket, sewn to be perfect on _my_ body. Your kiss is fiery, resurrecting; I feel alive with Your tongue on, over, under mine.

It burns. A good fire. Pleasant, delicious. Sea-green E. C. in my heart. You move lower and lower, holding onto my torso and sinking Your teeth in my breasts. _Gasp._ I see Your smile in my lungs, happiness and honey and You, and I wanna lick You all over to see if Your juice would be as sweet as You sound like. My skin flushes with my improper thought; I am so used to being innocent and ignorant, and this passionate, greedy side of me isn't ever beating around the bush or procrastinating.

I grab somewhere above my thigh and I think I just can feel Your vivid hardness and surprised pant when we make contact. You grin and lick across my ribs, dropping down to where the secret wonderland begins. Under Your gentle palms I unfold – for You, only for You. You know precisely which keys to press down to get me to sound like You want to hear me. I become an instrument, Your baby grand piano in the hall, faithfully waiting and hoping to please You with my music.

You stroke Your fingers up and down me and my body forms a bridge. It's like You've tied a wire to my stomach and pull it, toying with me like a marionette. A voice somewhere in the back of my head pokes me with words and tries to tell me to tell You that I'm not a doll meant for You to play with, but I'm too lost in You to even give a second thought about caring. The fire burns too lovely; I have no strength at all when You're with me like this.

Having at me, You turn in a hungry man that's had nothing to eat for years; sucking, lapping, biting me, and I can all but resist You or push You away. My nails scrape the gentle skin under Your unruly hair. My feet are up on Your back and my toes curling and digging in Your perfect ass.

I want to move my fingers to grab You, but I can't. Somehow You hold me hostage without even lifting Your hand and again I'm lost in the rush of blood to my heart. You whisper that it's all about me tonight, that You want to make me feel divine and watch as I fall apart, and an uncontrollable shiver tears through me, catching You by surprise and bringing on a sunny ray of new sensations down under Your lips.

A tip of tongue, as soft as velvet and midnight sky, dances with my nectar, brings me to the very brink and is my parachute as I bungee-jump off this world. Your words of encouragement are etched in my ears. Your name is battling its way up my throat, joining forces with my forgotten voice, and it's all on my lips already, about to break through, but something reminds me I'm not alone, and I try and fight and kick to swallow it back down, but it won't relent.

Suddenly, there's a hand up at my mouth and I bite to muffle the scream of the indescribable pleasure. I taste blood, but it's different 'cause I don't get nauseous. The metal adds to _Edward_, making it a flawless delicacy.

My heart explodes. I see stars and pianos and sea-green and diamonds.

I finally land, my hips stop their rolling, my muscles relax. Your warm breath on my cheek, a light kiss on my eyes. I don't wanna open them, not yet.

Lifting my arms, I stretch like a cat. My right hand grazes my cheek and suddenly I'm cold. My lids snap open, I try to see but I'm blind. Empty, 'cause You're gone. How is it possible to be unable to breathe when your lungs are full of air?

Turns out it's been just a dream. But a very, _very _pleasant one. I'm not even shy to admit it. If I can't be with You in reality, I'll cherish the memory of this vision. At least some part of You will be mine.

So know You know, Edward. This is me, all of this. I've told You more than I thought I had to say, let alone being able or willing to ever reveal to anyone.

Now You know who I am, what You are to me, what is going on inside me. I know it'd be really silly to hope, believe that You could ever accept me and all the flaws I carry with me, but, well, I'm a dreamer and I've survived through many disappointments. I hide my hurt and hopes behind a façade of laughter, not letting anyone know the real me, but I took the chance and let the mask slide aside for You. 'Cause I love You. I don't want to, but it's not a question of who was wrong or what is right; it's not a question at all. It's a sobering, painful truth I'm waiting for You to accept. Because, like I said, I've realized there's no way back for me anymore.

I promise to not be mad at You when You find a girlfriend. I promise to not try to separate You, or make her life hell. I'll be jealous, of course. It will hurt to see You with someone other than me, but I know I'm not worthy of You, so I promise to step back. I just want You to be happy, and don't You ever worry about me. Not that You ever really would, but... Lucky one, the girl You choose.

I've told You all I had. Given You everything. My memories, my feelings, my dreams and hopes, and fears, and insecurities. My most hidden thoughts and fantasies. I even wrote a letter to You, something I've never dreamed of doing.

So here we are, at the crossroads, so to say. You choose, it's Your turn now. Are You strong enough to hold me? Bold enough to have me? Do You know how to listen at all? I'd love to believe that You are. But You have the answers. I have the questions.

I'm here, I'm waiting. For You, always for You.

Come find me,  
><em>Bella<em>

* * *

><p>AN: **So just to clear some things up. The capital **Y** in the word **You **is not there because of some BDSM stuff. It's there because this is a letter, and where I'm from, we address the person we write a letter to with the capitals at the beginning of each pronoun. It's difficult to explain for me, but I hope You got me.**

**This Bella is a blond. At first, it was a typo based on my own past & thoughts, 'cause, clearly, this is personal shit** **and includes my own memories, but, as the story progressed, the blond typo inspired the banner and a few other things related to this.**

**I won't get mad if You don't like this or whatever, but as every author, I'd love to hear from You.**

**Oh, and SML Ch2 is coming just down the road. I know it's been too long, but hang in there, people!**

**Thanks for reading xx  
><strong>

_SL_


End file.
